Tempered
by cloudymagnolia
Summary: Seven years after the battle against Voldemort, the Potters and the Weasleys are trying to settle down and start families. However, when Ron and Hermione have a tremendous misunderstanding regarding some big news Hermione has, both look to Harry for help.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Attributes: Future-verse, canon pairings. RonxHermione, Golden Trio Friendship Fic. One-shot.

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The Potters, of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, were proud to say that they were anything but normal, thank you very much. If you knew them, they were the first people you would expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, for they seemed to always be at the center of adventures and secrets. Not only were they wizards, and powerful wizards at that, but Harry Potter was famous even amongst the magical community. Harry Potter was, to date, the only wizard to have ever survived the Killing Curse – not once, but twice! – and he was primarily responsible for the defeat of the most powerful dark wizard of all time, the infamous Lord Voldemort. Unsurprisingly, eight years after Voldemort's downfall, Harry and his young wife Ginny still enjoyed loud and hectic lives, the most recent addition having come not quite a year ago in the form of their first son, James. The family had very recently finished moving into the ancestral home of Harry's Godfather to better facilitate their growing family. The house had been left to Harry in a state of miserable decrepitude, but after three hard weeks of scrubbing, painting, and redecorating, it had been transformed into a welcoming, pleasant home.

Once word got out that the Potters were moving out of the flat that had been provided for them by the Ministry of Magic as Harry helped to rebuild the wizarding establishment, it seemed like _everyone_ wanted the chance to wring out old sheets, scrub pots, or hang decorations for the Boy Who Lived. Ginny, whose independent spirit was bruised by the onslaught of tagalongs, was soon beside herself with the extra hands, and Harry was soon beside himself with Ginny, who insisted on doing more than she should even though she was becoming heavy with her's and Harry's second child. However, between the two of them, and with the help of their nine-year-old Godson, Teddy, they had finished the move in record time.

The one problem that had yet to be tackled in the Potter's new home was the portrait of Sirius's mother. No one had yet found a way to destroy it or remove it from the wall, and it insisted on screaming blue murder every time the hangings carefully arranged in front of it blew open.

Other than the rare bout of screaming, however, Harry was enjoying a pleasantly quiet evening. He was currently sitting on the brand-new sofa in the just-finished sitting room, facing a blazing fire and sipping a mug of spiced mead, contemplating how very pleasantly the noise from the cruel November storm raging outside was being drowned out by the crackling of the fireplace. Harry had sent Ginny and James to his mother-in-law's home for the night, both to allow Mrs. Weasley the chance to see how much James had grown, and to give her the opportunity to cluck and fuss over her only daughter who was now four months into her second pregnancy.

Harry had been enjoying the peace and solitude for almost three quarters of an hour when it was broken suddenly by a panicked banging on the front door. Harry slammed his drink down on the coffee table, noticing dimly in his semi-panic that the alcohol sloshing over the sides might strip the varnish on the wood table, and raced down the stairs to the front entrance. His heart pounding, Harry mentally went over his stock of emergency auring supplies as he fumbled with the many physical locks that had been installed on the door, and quietly mumbled a dozen counter-hexes and protection charms to break the magical barriers surrounding his home. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of groping and murmuring, he managed to heave the front door open against the storm. He was shocked and even more unsettled when Hermione, one of his two best friends, practically fell into his arms, a sodden and battered broomstick falling to the ground at his feet. Icy waves of panic began to rip through his chest as he registered the hoarse noise he was hearing issuing from her throat as uncontrollable sobs. She shook in his arms, both from cold and from the blank despair that seemed to have consumed her.

Harry could think of only one reason why Hermione, who was no great flier, would be here in this state, alone, sopping wet, sobbing into his arms, and braced himself for the worst, mentally ticking off the names of friends and allies that he could rally for a rescue on short notice. Harry felt Hermione pull herself together, and leaned closer to her in order to hear what she had to say. Any information she had might be imperative.

"I hate him," she gasped, looking fervently into Harry's eyes. "I'm leaving him. I have to."

Harry noticeable relaxed. "But, he's all right otherwise?" he asked in an only somewhat-shaky voice, after he'd swallowed back the worst of his panic.

"All right?" Hermione asked blankly. Harry relaxed further, and turned his attention more completely to the woman in front of him. Tears were still leaking from her eyes, but she had the presence of mind to pull out her wand and dry Harry's sweater, which she had gotten sopping from her own dripping hair and her tears. "Yes, of _course_ he's all right, he's out drinking with some of his ministry buddies. He doesn't even know I'm gone yet."

Harry let out a long, hissing sigh. Hermione's husband, Ron, was his other best friend, and the prospect of anything happening to either of them was more than he could bear. "So," Harry said, still shaky, "No one is hurt?"

Hermione was notoriously prickly when upset, so Harry was very much surprised when, instead of the sharp retort that he was expecting, Hermione merely shook her head miserably. This was not the first time that one or the other of his best friends had come to him for comfort after one of their infamous rows, but Hermione's behavior and her inexplicable mode of appearance was actually making him doubt whether she wasn't, for once, serious. Harry gave the top of her head a worried pat, and led her gently through the door into the kitchen.

"I'll go get you some dry robes and ask Kreacher to put on some tea, all right?" He asked her, trying to make his voice as comforting as he could. It took Harry, standing prudently on the other side of the locked kitchen door, a few minutes to coach Hermione through changing her robes in her hysterical state, but eventually he had her dressed in dry clothes and seated across from him at the kitchen table, a hot mug of strong tea cradled in her hands. Harry took heart from Hermione's gradually steadying breathing, and he was pleased when, after a few sips of her tea, she had collected herself as if she was ready to tell Harry what was wrong.

Unfortunately, as soon as words began tumbling out of her mouth, her eyes began leaking tears again.

"Oh, _Harry," _Hermione whispered. "I love him. So much. I want to raise his family, I want to be there for him, I can't… I can hardly bear to leave him…" her voice trailed off in sobs. Harry, really concerned, reached across the table to grasp one of her hands.

"What's the problem, then?" He asked kindly. "You can't expect me to believe that he kicked _you _out."

Hermione waved this away, trying to dry her eyes on her sleeve. "No, of course not. I've always been quicker with a wand than him, anyway, he wouldn't be able to force me to do anything that I didn't want to. No. I… I ran away." She drew a breath. "I couldn't bear what would happen if he found out."

"Found out what?" Harry asked nervously. Ron was both unforgiving and extremely jealous, so if Hermione really had done something to break his trust – like have an affair…

"That I… that I'm…" Hermione uselessly wiped her eyes again on the sleeve that was already wet with tears. "Oh, I thought that he would be happy, he was so _excited_ when Victoire and Teddy were born! I really… I really thought he'd be happy."

"Hermione, you're pregnant!" Harry half-yelled, realization dawning. Hermione nodded. "But that's _wonderful!_" Harry laughed. "What are you on about, Ron has been wanting a baby for ages!"

Hermione shook her head soberly. She seemed to finally be keeping hold over herself. "No," she said simply, and gave Harry a heart-wrenching attempt at a smile. "No. I tried to tell him today, and he told me I wasn't m-mature enough to be a Mum." She gulped her tea, as if it would help to hide the quaver in her voice. "And I _have_ to keep it, Harry, even if Ron leaves me because of it. It's what I've always wanted, to carry his baby."

"Hermione," Harry said firmly, "you're ill. I know you decided to fly because apparating and the floo network are both dangerous while in the family way, but getting yourself drenched and frozen is dangerous, too. Come on," Harry helped Hermione to her feet. "Go upstairs and go to bed. You can stay here for the night, until we decide what to do."

Hermione nodded, obviously happy that someone was making decisions for her. Harry practically had to carry her up the stairs, and once he had gotten her into his bedroom, he tucked her in like a child.

"But this is your bedroom," she protested weakly as Harry smoothed the covers up over her shoulders.

"The other rooms haven't been made up yet," Harry lied. Both of the other bedrooms had been turned into nurseries, and Harry didn't think that the sight of pink teddy bears and yellow ducks would be particularly soothing to Hermione's battered nerves. "I'll sleep on the couch tonight. Now, sleep." Harry put some power into his voice on the last word, and Hermione's eyelids fell over her eyes as if they were made of lead.

Harry watched her until her breathing had become even and heavy, and then went back down to the kitchen to finish off the pot of tea that Kreacher had made. No matter how he looked at it, he felt sure that Hermione and Ron must have just had a misunderstanding. Harry knew almost better than anyone how deep Ron's love for his wife was, and how much he wanted a family with her. Both of his friends could say hurtful things and could cut each other deeply, but he couldn't imagine Ron ever trying to drive Hermione away.

Harry had only sat there a few minutes when a silver terrier appeared on the kitchen table, and Ron's harried voice nearly shouted, "She's gone, mate, Hermione's gone! There's no sign of a struggle, but someone left in a hurry-"

"Ron, calm down," Harry interrupted composedly over his mug of tea.

"CALM DOWN?" The terrier bellowed. "MY WIFE HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED, AND YOU TELL ME TO CALM DOWN?"

"Ron, she's here," Harry pitched his voice to cut across Ron's tirade. Abruptly, the terrier disappeared. A moment later the kitchen fire turned emerald green, and Ronald Weasley stepped into the room.

"When I got home the front door was wide open and my spare broomstick was missing," Ron began heatedly as soon as he had caught his balance.

"She left in a hurry and flew," Harry countered, carefully keeping his seat. When Ron got riled up, he was liable to take anything, no matter how slight, as a challenge. "That's the broomstick there, isn't it?" Harry jerked a thumb at the broom that Kreacher had conscientiously placed in the kitchen corner. Catching sight of it, Ron relaxed a little.

"What did she go flying across half the country for? She can hardly stay on a broom! Where is she? Why'd she leave?"

"She's upstairs. She seemed to be catching cold, so I put her to bed." Harry felt Ron send out a wave of magic, feeling for his wife's presence.

"I don't sense her," he muttered, voice surly.

"You won't. She's in my room, and we put extra protection around it because James still sleeps in there with us."

Ron began to pace anxiously the length of the small kitchen. "What did I do this time," he asked finally, through gritted teeth.

"I'm… not sure," Harry said carefully. He didn't think it was his place to tell his best friend that he was going to be a dad. "She said that she had news for you that she thought… erm, might upset you."

Ron's eyes turned suspicious, and Harry winced, immediately regretting his choice of words.

"Oh?" Ron asked dangerously. "And that news wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that she's spending the night in my best mate's bed, would it? Where's my sister, anyhow – or did you send her out for the night?"

"Ron, get your head out of your arse," Harry snapped, and was gratified when Ron immediately deflated. He sank down into the chair that his wife had so recently occupied, and put his head in his hands.

"Sorry, mate." He whispered. "I just can't think of what I could have possibly done to upset her. We've been getting along great, having great sex, and all around she's just seemed so… _happy_. I don't understand what I could have done."

"I think you insulted her when you told her that she wasn't fit to be a Mum," Harry said quietly, watching Ron intently in case he set off another firestorm.

"I said _what_?" Ron asked, incredulous. "I never. This morning, she asked me if I was upset that we hadn't been able to start a family yet, and I said that 25 was still awfully young to have kids. I was trying to be _kind_, for Merlin's sake," Ron half-shouted. "It's not like we haven't been _trying_ to have a baby, and the problem certainly isn't on _my _end!"

Harry winced at the awkward turn in the conversation, and stood. "I've told you everything I know. I think you should go wake up your wife." Ron nodded and stood up, his face a mixture of irritation and bemusement. "Be careful though," Harry called after him. "Ginny gets scary too, when she's like that." Either Ron didn't hear or wasn't properly listening, because he didn't question Harry's cryptic comment.

As soon as Harry saw Ron disappear upstairs, he grabbed his wand and went upstairs himself to the sitting room, which provided a better vantage point of the upstairs-landing. He didn't think that anything would go wrong, but with those two, confrontations could end very, very badly.

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Harry had left the door open and the light on in his room, which allowed Ron to enter noiselessly. However, on catching sight of his wife he realized that no amount of noise would have woken her, so deep was the sleep that Harry had put her in. He sighed, and reached for a chair to draw close to the bed, preparing himself to wait for the spell to wear down, when a trick of the light made him examine his wife's face more carefully.

She was crying. Weeping, actually, in her sleep.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed, and, lifting her up, he carefully resettled the two of them so that he was sitting on the bed, leaning on the headboard, cradling Hermione in his lap. He was pleased to see that, with her head resting on his shoulder, her tears were slowing and her breathing was becoming more even. Encouraged, he began to talk to her in what he wished were a soothing voice in the hope that it would calm her further. He began by telling her how his day at work had gone, hating himself for the way that worry was making his voice go high and cracked. Without realizing it, once Ron began to speak, all manner of things began to tumble out of his mouth.

"Please, 'Mione," he breathed over the top of her head. "Please, don't leave me. Whatever this is, whatever's happened, I promise we can work it out. We can fix it. It doesn't matter what I've done, or what you've done, I'll forgive you."

"Do you mean it?" Hermione asked very, very quietly. Ron tightened his hold around her. He wanted to ask her at what point during his monologue she had awoken, but didn't quite dare to.

"Of course I mean it," Ron murmured, his mouth and throat going dry. "Please, love, just tell me what the matter is."

Hermione turned to face him. She looked as if she was preparing herself to meet death. Finally, she blurted, "I'm pregnant."

Ron's world stopped completely. He had been afraid of this. He closed his eyes for just a moment, licked his lips, and asked, trying to sound casual, "Who's the father?"

Hermione sat bolt upright. She looked as though he had slapped her across the face.

"Of all the ungrateful, suspicious, mean-minded things you could say to me, Ronald Weasley, how _dare_ you to speak – to even _presume-_" Here she sputtered off into silence, her throat closed by her indescribable outrage.

"I only thought," Ron said weakly, but closer to his usual color and even with a trace of a smile, "I mean you were acting like you wanted to _drown_ yourself-" Hermione cut him off.

"I will have you know, Ronald, that not only have I never slept with anyone who wasn't you, which you know very well yourself – but, not once in the decade that I've even been able to _conceive _of such things – not once have I ever even wanted to sleep with anyone who wasn't you!" Her tirade finished, she contented herself with blazing her eyes at her husband, who was sheepishly plucking at the coverlet under his hand. A small silence reigned between them.

"Is that true?" Ron asked finally.

"I – what?" Hermione asked, genuinely startled.

"I asked if you were telling me the truth. That you never wanted to sleep with Harry, or Krum, or anyone else."

Hermione paused for a moment, open-mouthed. Even after knowing her husband for fourteen years, his vulnerability could still surprise her. "Of course it's true," she answered simply. Ron buried his face in her hair.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Wait a moment," he snapped suddenly, holding his wife at arm's length in order to see her better. "You're having a baby. Then… then I'm going to be a _dad_!"

The elation in Ron's voice was so much that Hermione couldn't help but start sobbing again, but she was smiling radiantly through her tears.

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